


The Coveted Touch of a Man in Love

by Tridraconeus



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Cuddling, Dirty Talk, Fingering, M/M, Sex, Xenobiology, handjobs, mute Philip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:33:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26085757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tridraconeus/pseuds/Tridraconeus
Summary: Killing some time during long evenings at the saloon.
Relationships: Philip Ojomo | The Wraith/Caleb Quinn | The Deathslinger
Comments: 23
Kudos: 82





	The Coveted Touch of a Man in Love

**Author's Note:**

> welcome to RAREPAIR CITY YALL. I wrote this in three hours last night to post this morning as a birthday gift to myself and only did one editing pass on it, so I won't be mad if you point out typos and the like.

“C’mon, lean back.” Caleb pushed his legs apart with a hand on his knee and hauled his own chair closer, the scrape of wood on wood joining Philip’s raspy breathing and the muted calls of vultures outside. His hand slipped easily between the layers of bandages, tugging them to the side-- searching out hardness, or _softness_ , any stretch of inviting skin. The Entity wouldn’t be _that_ cruel, he thinks.

Sure enough, there’s a stretch of skin on Philip’s crotch. Caleb ducked his head to see what he was working with, thumb rubbing along a soft slit that makes Philip keen and his hips tense. Now that he’s aroused, the flesh is warm and swollen with blood, and the inside was a chilly blue color that just barely peeks out to his skin outside.

“What’ve you got down here?” He traced the slit, a definite _entrance_ , dragging his thumb up and down as Philip crooned. Warmth bloomed into heat. Droplets of bright, faintly glowing blue gathered at the top of the slit as Caleb patiently toyed with it. The slick served well as a natural lubricant, and when Caleb traded his thumb for fingers instead they became wet within seconds. Philip was cooing, still, voice strangled and compressed into almost a purr, and while Caleb regretted that he wouldn’t be able to hear Philip ask for _more_ , there was no question in the eager lines of his body; long, graceful fingers combing through Caleb’s hair and stroking his neck, pulling him close. 

Caleb pushed inside, just to the first knuckle, and felt something abruptly move against him. It wasn’t the clenching pressure of Philip tightening around him, and while he was certainly slick and hot he was accommodating as well, so he made a muted grunt of inquiry against Philip’s cheek and jabbed in a little more. 

Another, a squirm, and then pressure. Something was trying to get _out_. 

“Somethin’ I should know about?” Teasing, yes, and he had his suspicions, but just in case Philip needed him to remove his hand he’d like to know. Whatever was in there was squirming against his index finger and steadily pushing it out, down, waging a miniature war against his invading digit until Caleb graciously admitted defeat to the lively thing and pulled his finger out. It was followed by a thick, flexible appendage that had wound the tip of itself around his index.

Philip’s cock-- it was unmistakably a cock, because what else could it be?-- was the same uniform gray-blue-black of his skin, but coated with a thin layer of his unnatural slick. It must have been furled, very neatly, inside his slit; making an appearance only once significantly aroused. With the bare minimum coverage of his bandages, Caleb supposed having a high _barrier of entry_ , as it may be, kept him from embarrassing accidents on the battlefield. Droplets of slick dripped lazily down the undulating length of Philip’s cock as Caleb switched to feeling him up there, closing his hand around the sensitive muscle and giving him a few lazy tugs. 

“You were holding out on me, huh?” 

Philip chirruped, almost embarrassed, and ducked his head. Caleb chuckled and tilted his chin up with his free hand, catching Philip’s eyes with his own. The glow was softer, as it usually was when Philip was not on the hunt, a muted, fuzzy light that spilled over his cheekbones. Philip was not conventionally handsome-- neither of them were. He was gentle, though, and Caleb was always a sucker for how his legs seemed to stretch on and on, and for how slim he seemed to be compared to the rest of the regular monsters in this place he actually _was_ fairly well-built and had shown Caleb as much in arm-wrestling matches of the past, so that didn’t matter much. 

“Aw, none of that. It’s cute, but cut it out.” 

Philip scooted forward in his chair to give Caleb a better angle. Caleb took the hint-- Philip had likely never thought to stick fingers into himself before, especially the alien anatomy he’d been given, and Caleb was rightfully proud of how skillful his hands were. Not specifically in _this_ capacity, but-- he was adaptable, and watching Philip practically beg him to keep touching him did more to stoke the fire of his ego than the cries of a hundred wounded men.

His fingers, two this time, slipped easily into Philip’s slit. With the barrier of his cock, the entrance was suddenly far tighter. It was a snug fit even with how ample his slick was. Hot, too, so intense it was almost prickling around Caleb’s fingers. He rubbed and pet Philip’s insides, fingers carefully stretching him and testing his give. 

“Think I could fit my cock in there, Phil?” He nudged Philip’s head up to kiss his jaw, the roughened barklike skin of it pressing cooly against his lips, and feel how Philip’s purring broke into an eager growl. “Nobody’s treated you right for a long time, huh.” He spread his fingers in the snug heat, pressing up against the underside of Philip’s cock. It had wrapped entirely around his wrist while Caleb wasn’t paying attention, smearing tracks of fluorescent blue up his forearm like a watercolor. “Poor lil’ Phil.” 

Philip jerked, hips rising from the rickety chair. Caleb followed with his hand, refusing even an inch of relief. Heels on the ground now, leaning heavily into the card table. It gave room for Caleb to push himself between Philip’s legs, both of them half-standing, and rub fast, merciless circles to the one spot that made Philip jump. His hips went from painfully tense to rocking down, riding Caleb’s hand. His cock was coiled tightly around Caleb’s hand to keep it where it was, and while he had no doubts he would be able to pull away if he really wanted to, what was the point in that?

There was a point, actually, and it was currently straining in his jeans. The dark denim did a fair job hiding it, but Philip could surely feel it against his thigh. 

“Hold on a second, sweetheart.” 

Philip would forgive the mumble. He sighed, raspy through a half-petrified throat, and his hand cupped Caleb’s cheek while Caleb undid his belt, popped the button, and ungracefully shoved his jeans down around his thighs one-handed. Philip really did deserve better than this, deserved a soft bed and perhaps a softer man, but he’d answered each of Caleb’s advances with his own and Caleb couldn’t dream of stopping now. He tugged his hand out of Philip’s strangling slit, so much tighter now that his engorged cock was taking up space, and hastily pumped himself once, twice, another time for good measure, to coat himself in Philip’s slick. 

“Lay out on your back,” he directed. Philip lowered himself properly to the table, sparing another look at Caleb before dropping to his back. His legs hung over the table, but that was fine. The goal, really. Caleb adjusted him with a hand on his knee and pushed forward until there wasn’t any space between them. 

He pushed Philip’s legs up; lovely long legs, even wrapped with bandages and sticky with ash, the long-since healed mottles of lightburn and _other_ burns, something from another life that Caleb knew he’d never be privy to. They settled over his shoulders and the position held Philip so open underneath him-- a sight, with his cock coiling on his belly and the slit it came from molten blue, dripping slick to the card table below-- that it’s only a miracle that keeps Caleb from coming on the spot. 

“Can’t help but wonder if you know how much I want you.” He draped over Philip, a wet, glowing hand settling on the table by his head. Philip keened up at him, head tilting to the side. Inquiry. He knew by now that Caleb wasn’t going to say anything denigrating, and while a part of Caleb was indignant that Philip would even _think_ that it’s not important enough to think about, and he was so starved for the slightest of affections that Caleb couldn’t help but give them to him-- it would be downright _inhumane_ otherwise. “You’re gonna fit me like a glove, sweetheart. Can’t wait to get inside of you.”

 _Sweetheart._ Philip liked that one. His eyes flashed, sharpened, would be blown wide with desire and searing desperation if they weren’t swallowed up by the white glow. His chitters and growls were as close to moans as they’d ever be; long, sustained rasping breaths, a low rumbling purr that Caleb could feel in his chest. In his throat. Somehow, Caleb had the feeling Philip wouldn’t appreciate _kitten_ that much.

Philip was looking up at him, wanting and expectant, and that pulled him out of reflection. 

“Was just admiring you,” he excused, because he was, and leaned down to kiss the petrified skin of Philip’s lips. It was a cool neutral, like smooth bark. Philip couldn’t really kiss back-- could only lay there, and stare into his eyes, and make a deep, contented noise, and squeeze Caleb’s shoulders with his legs. Caleb wasted no more time in lining himself up. Philip’s cock gave him enough trouble, refusing to leave his hand alone, wrapping around his cock, smearing drippy slick everywhere until even Caleb’s jeans had speckles of the luminous stuff on them. It wasn’t a chore to contend with, at least. The brushes and eager curling of Philip’s cock were easy to deal with and he finally, finally pressed against Philip’s entrance; pushed in slowly as Philip stiffened underneath him, noises climbing into a breathy, broken whine. He was so _tight,_ and hot inside, startling around his fingers and blissful around his length. Caleb wasn’t a small man-- it was a tight fit with what was essentially two cocks stuffed inside of Philip, even as his own eagerly writhed against them. No point in trying to be stoic; his own noises joined Philip’s, moans and grunts of exertion when he finally began to move. Philip’s legs squeezed him even more tightly. 

“So damn tight,” he growled, right against Philip’s cheek. The man underneath him keened, twitched, hips rocking up and intensifying the frictionless slide. “ _Fuck,_ Phil.”

Philip’s arms wrapped around his shoulders, hands pressing on his back, pulling him down. Hips driving up as Caleb’s own drove down. Caleb spared a hand to Philip’s frantic cock, jerking him roughly, gritting his teeth as each forceful tug sent a ripple effect from the part of his cock that was external to the length still held within his slit, rubbing against Caleb’s cock. 

“Fuck,” again, “ _Phil_ , sweetheart.” 

Philip clutched at him-- nails digging in, blunt fingertips against his duster. Caleb almost regretted that he wouldn’t have marks to show from it. He’d bruise, maybe, but even those never stayed long.

He lasted barely five minutes more before abruptly pulling out-- as hot as it would be, he still wasn’t sure if another man’s cock was _supposed_ to go up there, and causing Philip embarrassment and discomfort was not the goal of this-- and spilling onto the dark length of Philip’s thigh. Philip’s cock writhed in his hand and he tightened his grip even further until Philip shrieked. He almost let go-- was it pain?-- but it wasn’t the bellowing howl of agony he’d heard of, and Philip’s limbs tightened around him and pulled him in. Cum-- also glowing blue, but now thicker and opaque-- spilled over Caleb’s hand and Philip’s belly, and Caleb gave him a few more enthusiastic pumps until Philip hissed in discomfort and angled his hips away. 

Defeated, the once-eager cock hung tiredly between Philip’s thighs, and as Caleb watched it slowly began to shrink and withdraw into his body once more. He traced the edge of Philip’s slit; won a chittering sigh, afterglow preventing Philip from being more miffed at Caleb’s exploration of his oversensitivity.

“Alright, alright.”

His jeans were ruined. They’d clean themselves up after some time, the way everything seemed to do in the Entity’s realms, and he’d miss the memento but not the possibility-- probability-- of survivors staring at his ruined jeans and coming to their own conclusions. He wiped himself off and tucked himself away, pulled his jeans back up, dropped down to his chair again. 

Philip had rolled to his side, was looking at him. 

“Well, c’mere.” Caleb reached for him-- half-pulled him off the table as Philip maneuvered to descend without falling.

Philip shifted to sit on his lap, breaths even and steady. For how much of a giveaway it was in trials, Caleb wished it was louder. Philip leaned to press their foreheads together, a hand curling in Caleb’s hair again; sought out his eyes. 

“Issat a kiss, Phil?” He squeezed Philip’s hip. Philip nodded, slightly. Caleb would reflect on the magnitude of that, a kiss, not just a brush of lips on lips, later. He reached over the table-- thankfully, his tumbler of whiskey was untouched. He pulled it over and gently knocked Philip’s cheek with the rim until he pulled back and he could take a drink. 

“You can stay here until I finish my drink,” he decided, knowing full well _Philip_ knew full well that _here_ was a very specific location, and he would not complain if Philip chose to stay in the saloon for far longer than that.

He would, too. Probably. 

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to leave a kudos or a comment-- tell me what you thought! Caleb is a leg man don't @ me


End file.
